


Complicated

by CayCay384



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But hey he's doing his best, Canon Compliant, Don't worry too much, Fear of Rejection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Fushimi is much more of a little shit, He's a mess ok, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Misaki is a little shit, Misaki probably has trauma, No powers here boys, Pining, Post Season 2, Powers what powers, Temporarily Unrequited Love, They're both messes, am i the worst, enough fluff to keep it hopeful, its brief, just communicate already, sorry more angst than fluff, the homophobia is from a dead guy so, they both have trauma, who am I kidding, yes I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CayCay384/pseuds/CayCay384
Summary: Fushimi is falling in love. Screw that, he already has.Such a shame he fears Yata will never return the sentiment.
Relationships: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki
Comments: 4
Kudos: 104





	1. Visiting a Friend

“You fuckin cheating piece of shit!” Yata threw his controller down onto the couch and shot to his feet in a huff, earning a slap on the back of his head from Kusanagi.

“Watch your mouth, Yata. We have guests, and we mustn’t be disrespectful. I realize that’s difficult for you, but please do your best to appear civil,” the bartender smiled. “Besides, Fushimi wouldn’t cheat, perhaps you’re just out of practice.”

Yata glared and sat back down, reclaiming the controller. “That’s bullshit.”

“This game is painfully simple. It’s really no surprise that you like it, Misaki,” Fushimi taunted from beside his old friend. 

Just to rile the red clansman up even further, Fushimi closed his eyes and leaned back as the next round started. Yata was focused intently on the screen, biting the inside of his cheek as his fingers flew rapidly over the buttons, smashing them down with enough force to threaten cracking the controller. Fushimi barely paid attention, fingers working methodically in spite of his lack of interest Somehow, he still managed to obliterate Yata’s character, causing the shorter ginger to seethe.

“Yeah fuck this,” Yata finally decided, tossing the controller to Kusanagi and grabbing his skateboard, storming for the door. 

“Backing out already, Misaki?” Fushimi smirked. “Not surprised. You’ve always been such a sore loser.”

“Shut up, monkey!” Yata placed his board on the ground as he pushed open the door. He pulled his hoodie tighter around his waist and let his hand hover over the door handle. His anger softened into something a little darker… sadder. “I just… I have to be somewhere today.”

Fushimi sensed the sudden shift in Yata’s demeanor, and he slipped the controller to Seri, who gave him a puzzled look before she and Kusanagi settled down on the worn leather couch, which smelled strongly of cigarette smoke, and started a few rounds themselves. Fushimi tossed his coat over his shoulder and walked up beside Yata. 

“You aren’t going anywhere by yourself. Not with all that’s happened. Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you,” he laid a hand on his sword, and his stern expression didn’t leave his words up for debate. 

Kusanagi didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Yata... “ he spoke gently for the first time that day. “Are you sure you want to go now?” The real question was clear. Did he want to bring Fushimi with him?

Yata paused and picked up his skateboard, looking down at the symbol painted onto it. He glanced up at Kusanagi, who was invested in the screen. Then his gaze shifted to Fushimi, and the ginger took a breath. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, and his voice was unusually solemn. He stepped out the door, holding it for his old friend. 

“So… where exactly do you think you’re going?” Fushimi asked, keeping pace with Yata, who had his skateboard tucked firmly under his arm. 

“Shut up, Saruhiko,” Yata snapped, looking away. The city was quiet, and only a few pedestrians got in the duo’s way, but it did cause them to part from one another for a few seconds. They fell back into step quickly. “I’m not bringin’ you along so you can complain the whole time.”

“I asked a question,” Fushimi rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, a stupid one. You’ll know when we get there,” Yata said sharply. Immediately, he looked away. “Sorry…”

Fushimi could tell his friend was troubled. So instead of asking again or getting defensive, he fell quiet, hoping his presence would be enough to ease whatever was on Yata’s mind. He would never admit it, but he worried a lot about the red clansman. Yata had lost so much in such a short amount of time, and though he liked to pretend he was tough, Fushimi could see all of it weighing on him. 

They went down a few streets until they reached the outskirts of the city, where a quiet cemetery sat on a hill. It was one of the only grassy areas left. Fushimi saw Yata inhale deeply as he crossed into the cemetery. One large section was gated, and Yata had to scan a pass to get in. Tombstones were lined up in rows. Upon reading the names, Fushimi realized what all of them had in common. Red clansmen.

“This is…”

“The red clan’s burial ground. Since the beginning, our people have been buried here and nowhere else. No matter who has been king, we all end up here,” Yata was unusually soft spoken. And Fushimi could easily see why he’d come here. 

Yata walked silently between the stones until he reached the ones in front, facing the rest. Each was elaborate and decorated with careful carvings and flowers, all of which were various shades of red. Mikoto Suoh’s name was at the far right, at the end of the lineup of red kings, and Yata stood in front of the large headstone, eyes tearing up slightly. He clawed the tears away and sunk down onto his knees, folding his hands tightly in front of him. He was quiet. 

Fushimi stood behind his friend and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, which Yata didn't respond to. “Why today?” he asked softly. 

Yata’s voice cracked when he spoke. “I come here every week…. Just to talk… I’ve gotta keep them in the know… you know?”

“Them?” Once again, Saruhiko was gentle. 

Yata pushed himself off the ground without answering and wandered to the grave closest to the king’s. He looked down at the headstone declaring “Tatara Totsuka” to be the one buried there. The red clansman shook his head and dropped to his knees once again. As soon as he did, Fushimi could see all the sorrow finally reach the surface. 

“It wasn’t fair! He was the best damn one of us. If only I’d gotten there sooner. I could’ve helped him,” Yata found himself in tears again. He growled as he wiped them away, clearly annoyed with their presence. “I’d have taken a bullet for him, you know that? In a heartbeat. And then he goes and gets himself killed like that?”

Yata was shaking, and Fushimi wasn’t sure what to do. So he let his friend go on.

“And then I saw the silver king parading around in his murderer’s body before all this. I respect the guy and everything now, but I can’t stop remembering that Tatara’s blood was on his hands once… Does that make me childish…? Fuck, even if it does, I don’t care,” Yata’s voice was breaking in both anger and grief by that point. “I just want him back… more than anything.”

Fushimi came forward and sunk down onto his knees beside Yata. He embraced him in a hug. Yata’s eyes went wide in shock at the unexpected touch, but he quickly relaxed into the hug, and eventually, he hugged back. Fushimi was quiet for a long time, thinking of how often Yata came here only to blame himself. And a heavy sadness weighed on his heart. 

“Let’s go home, Misaki,” he said, rising to his feet and offering Yata a hand up. The red clansman took it, and he cast one long look over the cemetery before they made the journey back to the bar. 


	2. Relax

By the time the duo returned, Seri had already left. Kusanagi claimed he’d been crowned the undeniable victor in their matches, but both Fushimi and Yata called him out on his bullshit. It was a quiet night among the red clan. After the slate had been broken, there wasn’t much action going on in the world. But the dynamics hadn’t much changed. 

Anna was still looked to as a leader for her ageless wisdom and someone every Homra clansman set out to protect. They did not mourn the loss of her power, and they instead looked for new ways to operate their clan. Most of the reds had no other home to return to, and it only made sense their family would stay as it was: a family. 

On the same coin, the blue clan had remained a specialized task force, albeit most had to undergo new forms of intensive training to prove useful. Fushimi had aced all of it, of course, and was still enlisted for his skills with computers as well. Even though there was a permanent dent in the clans with the absence of the slate and the swords, most of them remained together, as they should. 

Yata tried to clear all this from his mind as he sat back on the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. There was no use in reminiscing on the past now. 

“Thank you very much for having us, Mr. Kusanagi,” the blue clansman gave a respectful bow. “It’s time I go home… I’m sure Seri is wondering why I haven’t checked in.”

Fushimi pulled his coat on and gave everyone a smile before pushing open the door. A gust of freezing air hit his face and nearly blew his glasses off the bridge of his nose. He pulled his hood around him with a shudder and started to go. 

“Are you stupid?” Yata demanded, hands flying to his waist. Fushimi paused. “You can’t walk all the way back to your shitty barracks as cold as it is tonight. You’ll end up with pneumonia and get a fever or somethin’.”

Fushimi rolled his eyes, but even as he snapped back, there was an old affection in his voice. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

Yata practically sprinted forward and pulled the door shut forcefully, forming a small but powerful barricade between his friend and the frigid winter air. Like Fushimi, he excelled in combat even without his power. 

“Looks like that’s decided,” Kusanagi said with a smile, polishing one of the tall wine glasses with an old towel. “Fushimi, you may as well stay the night. You know Yata, he’ll stand there as long as you do.”

Fushimi rolled his eyes again. “Fine.”

Yata straightened up and nodded, but he didn’t say anything else on the matter. “Well, now that this idiot is taken care of, I’m gonna hit the sack. It’s… been a long day.” 

That familiar heaviness came back on him, causing him to slouch a bit more than usual. Fushimi cocked his head slightly as his eyes trailed his friend up the stairs in the back corner of the bar. The old apartment on top of the bar had been converted long ago into a rest stop for Homra. Yata rarely left anymore. 

“So what’s wrong with him?” Fushimi sat down at the bar, throwing his jacket over the stool next to him and propping his sword up against it. He wouldn’t have brought the sword, but the streets were still plenty dangerous. He never felt comfortable unarmed.

Kusanagi frowned in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t notice?”

Kusanagi looked off in the direction Yata had gone. “I guess I hadn’t… though now that you mention it, I see what you mean. Of course, you know him better than I do, it’s no surprise that you can tell right away when something is up. It would probably be best if you talked to him, since there’s no way he’d tell me. Yata is the kind of guy who doesn’t want to burden people with his problems, you know? But he trusts you to take that weight, doesn’t he?”

Fushimi frowned. “I guess so. Let me try.”

The blue clansman rose to his feet and walked up the stairs. He walked to the room at the end of the hall, the one he and Misaki used to share. Tentatively, he rapped on the door with his fist. “Misaki?”

No answer, so Fushimi invited himself in. 

Misaki sat on the edge of his bed, a small, rickety old thing, holding his old metal baseball bat in his hands. He looked down at the weapon as if contemplating it. His skateboard leaned on the bed beside him. He took a breath and looked up. His eyes were tired. 

“I don’t remember saying you could come in,” he muttered.

“This room was mine too,” Saruhiko reminded him, taking a seat on the abandoned bed just across from him. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Yata spoke quickly.

“Misaki, I’m not an idiot like you seem to think. We’ve been friends our whole lives,” Fushimi paused and looked down. Maybe more than friends, he wished to himself. “I know you well enough to know something is really bothering you. What’s wrong?”

Yata leaned back against the wall and turned his eyes to the cracked ceiling. The apartment wasn’t kept up with at all, but it was home and he’d never complain. “I don’t know… I guess all this is just finally sinking in, you know? I mean, I did everything I could for Mikoto, and it still wasn’t ever gonna be enough. But… Anna… I can still protect her. I have to. Mr. Mikoto would have wanted me to. You know?”

Saruhiko nodded. “It’s a lot, for sure. But now that the slate is gone, you don’t have much to protect Anna from.”

Misaki scoffed at that and laid back on his bed, palms laced together under his head. “Have you seen this shitty world? There’s plenty in it to protect her from. I just want her to be safe with me, when Mikoto wasn’t. He was so much stronger than me that any real threat to him would have obliterated me. But… Anna’s a kid. I would lay down my life for her, and I gotta admit the thought of anything happening to her... it's terrifying. I've already lost Tatara and Mikoto. Anything more and I don't know what I'd do.”

Yata seemed to feel a bit better after being allowed to say all this, and the exhaustion finally took him over. Fushimi watched silently as his friend’s breath slowed. Yata shifted onto his side, arms folding around the metal baseball bat like it was a lover. He curled into a ball, shivering a little. 

Fushimi smiled in spite of himself, using the spare blanket on his bed to cover Yata up. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his friend. He wasn’t an idiot, just like he’d said. He’d seen enough movies and read enough poetry to know what this stupid fluttery feeling was. And he hated being in love because Yata would never feel the same for him. 


	3. A Nightmare

Fushimi wasn’t sure how long he laid awake, listening to Yata’s shallow breath. Too long to be considered normal, probably. But late into the night, something changed in that breathing pattern. Yata began breathing rapidly, curling into himself even further. When Fushimi looked at him, he saw his old friend wearing an expression of terror, wincing in his sleep. The blue clansman was up in an instant. 

He knew better than to shake Misaki out of it. Upon waking up, the Homra clansman posed a threat to anyone in the room, including himself, and that was even when he wasn’t having some awful nightmare. 

“Misaki,” Saruhiko whispered desperately, moving over to the side of the bed. “Come on, you idiot, snap out of it.”

No response, but Yata was shaking. In an attempt to calm him, Fushimi placed a hand on his back, rubbing in slow, careful circles. For a moment, it appeared to work, but the look soon returned, and Yata started trembling again. Uncertain for the first time in a while, Fushimi tried to offer an embrace, which swiftly doubled as a way to pin Yata without hurting him, or letting him hurt himself.

He wasn’t fast enough to trap the ginger’s arms, and he instead received Yata striking him in the mouth. Fushimi grunted in pain and pressed a hand to his bleeding lip. He tried a second time, and again was too slow. As soon as he touched his friend, Yata kicked him in the knee, sending him to the ground. He hadn’t been using full force and his kick was still enough to make Fushimi worry something was broken.

“Misaki!” he said sharply. “Come on!”

Yata clenched his hands into fists and whimpered in his sleep. Finally, Fushimi was so desperate that he grabbed Yata’s shoulder and gave it a rough shake. It startled the ginger out of sleep, but not before he struck Fushimi in the mouth again. This one was hard enough to send the dark-haired boy stumbling backwards into the wooden nightstand sitting between the beds. 

“Tatara!” Misaki’s eyes were wide and open as the lamp sitting on top of the stand crashed against the ground and broke, sounding all too much like a gunshot. Yata was breathing heavily, clutching his own chest as if he’d been shot himself. His red hair clung to his neck with sweat, and he trembled more than ever. There were tears in his eyes.

Upon looking around, Yata noticed Fushimi picking himself up off the floor. The blue clansman staggered a bit, leaning heavily on the nightstand for support. “Misaki,” he whispered, trying to appear as though he hadn’t been hurt. “It’s okay.”

But Yata wasn’t that stupid.

He looked at his friend in shock, clearly horrified by what he’d done. He shot to his feet and sprinted down the hall and down the stairs. He didn’t stop running to grab a jacket either. He bolted out the front door, startling Kusanagi out of sleep, who had dozed off at the bar. The bartender looked on in shock as Fushimi tore after his old friend. 

“Misaki!” the blue guard shouted. “Stop!”

He grabbed his jacket from the bar and threw it around his shoulders before charging out into the freezing night. Kusanagi stood up, but he didn’t follow them. The boys had both been moving way too fast to keep up with them. He just looked on in worry, hoping that whatever happened could be fixed.

Saruhiko had lost sight of Misaki, but he followed the redhead’s sneaker prints as fast as he could with his potentially-damaged leg. The tracks led off into an alleyway a few blocks down. Saruhiko let out a breath of temporary relief. Yata sat back against the wall, head buried in his arms. He was stuck between being racked with sobs and trying to catch his breath. He shivered in the cold. 

“Misaki,” Saruhiko whispered gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not!” Yata screamed into his arms without looking up. He shivered again. “It’s not…”

Fushimi shed his coat and wrapped it around his friend’s body, then hugged him as tightly as he could. “It’s okay,” he repeated.

“Get outta here, monkey,” Yata whispered, trying to shrug off the coat. 

“No, keep it, it’s too cold out here. You’re more sensitive to it than I am anyway,” Fushimi said pointedly, releasing his vice grip on Misaki. 

“I’m sorry,” Misaki said, and his voice cracked. It gave way to quiet weeping. The boy struggled to conceal his face in his arms. 

Fushimi found a genuine expression of sorrow on his typically-collected face. He didn’t like showing what he was feeling to others, but he couldn’t help it now. He finally understood what Yata had been going through by himself, and the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t believe the red clansman had dealt with it quietly for so long. 

“I promise it’s going to be okay,” Fushimi said softly. “I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Yata nodded slowly and leaned against his friend’s chest, allowing himself to relax into another hug. He clawed the tears out of his eyes and slid his arms under Fushimi’s. “You’re freezing,” he managed. “I wanna go home.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up like that.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Yata allowed Fushimi to practically pick him up. The blue looped Misaki’s arm around his shoulders to offer some support. 

“It’s nothing,” Saruhiko lied as he tried to conceal his limp. Yata was more powerful than he looked. “Just… I need you to focus on breathing, okay? We can talk about this more when we get back, but just keep your breathing even for now.”

Misaki nodded and remained quiet, his trembling starting to ease, as Saruhiko led them back to the bar. Both of them came inside, and they collapsed onto the couch together. Misaki fell into Saruhiko’s lap, and the blue clansman brushed his friend’s hair away from his face. He let Yata curl up in his jacket. 

“I tried not to sleep for a while. Just so they would stop.”

Kusanagi shook his head in pity for his fellow clan mate. He brought them both cups of hot tea and then went into the back room to offer privacy. 

“You can sleep now,” Fushimi promised quietly. “I’ll stay here.”

Yata shook his head and took a sip of the tea, lifting his head from Fushimi's shoulder. “That’s what I’m scared of. I don’t wanna haul off and hit your dumbass again,” he murmured, still shaking a little. His breathing slowed, but his heart didn’t stop racing. 

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “Please, you don’t hit that hard. Misaki.”

Yata closed his eyes and let himself doze off again. Meanwhile Kusanagi returned with napkins and an ice pack for Fushimi’s bloody lip and damaged leg. The blue clansman thanked him quietly, and as soon as Kusanagi was out of view, Saruhiko stroked Misaki’s hair back, trying to soothe him. He eased him down so Yata could lie back, letting him rest his head in Fushimi's lap. 


	4. Being a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fluffiest shit I've ever written... and that's not saying anything. What can I say, I was born for angst.... but like... these two deserve some damn happiness.

“You idiot! I told you you were going to get sick or something!” Yata snarled, standing over Fushimi, who was practically falling asleep sitting up. The red gently pressed the back of his hand to his friend’s temple. “You’re burning up,” Yata looked over to Kusanagi, who lounged behind the bar. “Can’t you fix him up?”

“The most I can offer him is a place to get bed rest, Yata.”

Yata had woken up that morning to Fushimi sleeping while sitting upright on the couch, the red clansman’s head in his lap. He’d made a show of scuttling away, but as soon as he noticed his friend was literally radiating heat waves, the facade of indifference vanished. 

“Well, fine. Looks like you’re stuck here until that fever clears up, Fushimi. The cold air’s just gonna make things worse,” Yata put his hands on his hips. “So I’m gonna have to do everything around here.”

“Yata, why don’t the two of you take the apartment for the next few days? We don’t have any other guests who need it right now, and I’d rather not have a half-dead blue taking up all of my lounge space,” Kusanagi said with a smile. 

Yata didn’t seem to find the humor, especially with the half-dead part, but he did agree. He helped Fushimi up, slipping one of his slender arms around his shoulders, and led him up the stairs, mostly carrying him. He lugged the taller boy all the way down the hall before helping him lie down on his old bed. After leaving him with some medicine and a bottle of water, as well as a cold rag to place under his head, Yata leaned back against the wall to catch his breath.

This was just like the old days. While Saruhiko had been correct in saying Yata was more sensitive to the cold weather, Saruhiko was more prone to illness. Misaki had always been happy to take care of his friend back then, and this time was no different. 

“Saruhiko,” he said quietly. “Saruhiko. Are you awake?”

“Am now,” Saru muttered. “What is it?”

“I’m gonna… make food. What do you want?”

“You know what I like,” Saruhiko’s voice retained a typical monotone air, but it was hushed and tired. 

Yata almost snapped and said that was the stupidest answer Fushimi could have given, but he saw his friend’s breathing slow as the blue clansman shifted to get more comfortable. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. A ghost of a smile played on Misaki’s lips. “Sleep well, monkey,” he said over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen.

Misaki slipped his headphones from his neck to his ears and played one of his favorite songs- a dumb pop song Totsuka had introduced him to- humming under his breath as he got to work. He enjoyed cooking and found a certain peace in it. As prideful as he was, Misaki was also a bit shy to admit that he was also damn good at cooking.

He pulled open the freshly stocked fridge, Homra clansmen tended to have big appetites, and looked through it for something the picky Fushimi wouldn’t complain about. Eventually he settled on something he’d made for the two of them when they were kids. It hadn’t gone well, but Yata had lots of practice since then. 

As he worked, he thought about the night before. Typically when he slept, he’d lock the apartment door and wake up with a bruise or two. He knew it was a risk letting Saruhiko in the room while he slept, but he really didn’t think it was going to be that bad. It was the reason he’d been sleeping at home less and less. He didn’t want to risk hurting his family, after all, and what he’d done last night only reinforced his fear.

By the time food was finished, Yata wiped his forehead and sighed, content with his work. He went down the hall to check on Saruhiko. The blue clansman was curled up where Misaki had left him, face pale and eyes dark. Misaki smirked a bit as he walked inside the room. He placed a hand on Fushimi’s arm. 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” he said with a grin, giving him a little shake. 

Fushimi’s eyes drifted open and turned upward. If Yata hadn’t spent years around him, he would have missed the tiny smirk on his friend’s face, as quickly as it disappeared. But Yata had seen it, and he grinned a bit wider. 

“Come on, I made your ass food. You better get up and appreciate it,” Yata urged. 

Saruhiko rolled his eyes and forced himself into a sitting position. “Tch, fine, I’m up.”

Misaki offered his friend a hand up and the two of them began the trek into the living area, where Fushimi collapsed backwards onto the couch and kicked his feet up. The red proceeded to bring two trays of food back in and presented one of them to Saruhiko, raising his chin a bit with pride. 

Saru’s eyes went a bit wide, and another smirk threatened on his face. “Sukiyaki? Is this making up for the time that we ate it burnt when you first made it?”

“Shut up, monkey,” Yata looked away. “Anyways, I made it the way you like… no vegetables. I experimented with some nashi pears… uh, ‘cause I know you like them, and I figured you needed somethin’ healthy, since you’re so damn picky.”

Saruhiko looked at Misaki for several seconds too long, his face unreadable. 

“What?” Yata asked. 

Saru looked down just as quickly, turning to the tray of food he’d been given. “You have sauce on your chin.”

A tiny wave of heat caught Misaki’s cheeks as he wiped his sleeve across his jaw. He sat down next to Fushimi, offering the raven-haired boy the remote. Saruhiko took it and flipped through a few channels before settling on a documentary about technological advancements through the last few decades. 

“Oh my god, Saru, you’re so lame,” Misaki snickered beside his friend. 

“You called me Saru,” the blue observed quietly. 

“Uh…” 

“Nevermind. Well, what would you have us watch?”

Misaki snatched the remote and surfed through the channels, slowing down when he got to the horror section. He, very rapidly, turned off a horror movie about a ghostly woman taking revenge on people who wronged her. He ended up stopping on some gory horror film with a faceless slasher character stalking a group of kids. Saruhiko sighed. 

“Tch, really? You and I both know how unrealistic that blood is, right?”

“It’s a movie, Saruhiko, you can’t expect them to go slaughtering real people on screen,” Yata shot back. “Unfortunately.”

Another eye roll. They continued going back and forth until finally, a documentary about a serial killer seemed to catch both their eyes. It was shot well, and the narrator had a dark sense of humor. Saruhiko and Misaki sat back and watched it together while they finished their food. Throughout the film, Saruhiko found himself tempted to fall asleep against Misaki, but he kept trying to keep his chin propped up on his hand instead. 

“You can lean against me, you know,” Yata said, forcing scorn into his voice. “There’s no pillows on this couch… and it’s not very comfortable anyway. I don’t care.”

Saruhiko paused. 

“And anyway… I fell asleep on you last night. I guess I kinda owe you a shoulder pillow, you know?” Misaki turned away just as fast as he spoke. “I mean if you don’t want to, it makes no difference to me, it’s your choice. I’m just sayin, you don’t have to break your neck against that armrest if you don’t want to.”

Saruhiko looked at Misaki again in silence. Eventually, he settled down onto the redhead’s shoulder. God, he hated this. He hated looking at Misaki and thinking about how he literally embodied sunshine in human form. He hated looking at him and knowing that nothing would ever come of the two of them, even when Misaki was kind and gentle with him rather than brazen and rude. 

“Saru,” Misaki said with a smile.

“Hm?”

“You can sleep if you wanna, but try not to drool on me, okay?”

Saru snorted, and it was the closest to a laugh he’d been in a long time. 


	5. Restless Night

The rest of the first day went by smoothly enough. They spent their time watching television. Every so often, Yata would brush his hand against his old friend’s forehead to make sure he wasn’t getting hotter. He would get up and pace around, clearly distressed from sitting around so much when something was wrong. He would replenish Fushimi’s water bottle and bring back more wet rags for him. He was doing everything he could to ensure the blue clansman was comfortable. 

And every time he brought something, every time he would offer up more fever medication, Saruhiko would just watch him with this unreadable gaze. Misaki pretended not to notice, doing all these things without asking anything from Saru. It was alien to the blue clansman, getting so much from someone, but he couldn’t say he hated it.

“It’s getting late, Misaki,” Saru mumbled against the couch arm rest, arms tucked under his head as a pillow. “You need some sleep. You didn’t get nearly enough last night.”

Misaki winced at the thought of sleep. He didn’t want to risk hurting Saruhiko again, but he also couldn’t lock his door just in case the blue needed something. “I’m fine,” he answered quickly, shaking his hands in a frantic ‘no’ gesture. “I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Misaki…” Fushimi’s voice was a warning. 

“I’m fine,” the HOMRA clansman reiterated, turning back to the TV, eager to change the topic. “So… who do you think the murderer is in this movie? You remember it, right? We always watched up until that gross torture scene when we were kids and never found out who killed the chick in the first place.”

Saruhiko smirked slightly, adjusting his white T-shirt, which had been twisted underneath his side. He threw his feet up across Yata’s legs, not apologizing when his heels snapped down on Yata’s knee, causing the redhead to grunt in both anger and pain. “Tch, I really would have thought any moron could figure it out. The jewelry store owner was obviously the culprit, the evidence is so clear.”

“What?” Misaki choked and nearly spit out the glass of water he’d been drinking. At least, Fushimi really hoped it was water.

“Tch, the guy who was clearly shown to envy her husband… the only one who knew before she made it public that he was missing in the first place? I mean, who else would have known to strangle her with rope to make it look like perfect suicide? He was shown to be excellent with knot tying…”

Misaki stared at the screen, wide-eyed. “Shit, that makes sense! I didn’t even notice the clues, they were hidden so well.”

“No, they really weren’t. The outcome was terribly predictable,” Saruhiko sighed as his eyelids began to grow heavy. Before he could hear Yata’s response, he’d already fallen fast asleep, sprawled over the couch and trapping the smaller red underneath his long legs. 

Misaki smiled. As much as he liked to pretend his friend did nothing but get on his nerves, the fact of the matter was that he wasn’t sure what he’d do without him. It was the sort of friendship that didn’t make sense to anyone else, but it was perfect to both its participants. And Yata was content with that. 

On the other hand, of course, he wanted to know what Saruhiko was thinking. They were polar opposites in that Yata had no filter at all. Whatever he was feeling, he was happy to express it. In fact, he’d been trying to learn to keep some sort of reign on his tongue. 

Saruhiko, however, was a blank wall. He spent so much time trying to hide his feelings for fear of someone judging them, a product of his father, alright. Sometimes Yata found himself wishing he could just reach into his friend’s head and pull his thoughts out by hand. It sounded a lot easier than getting Saruhiko to talk about it, anyways. 

Yata was exhausted. He needed sleep; Saru had been absolutely right. The restless night before had left his body drained of whatever energy it’d been conserving. But he couldn’t risk falling asleep, not with Saruhiko right here, so close to him. Feeling the exhaustion weighing on him, he propped his chin up on his hand and tried to distract himself with the television. 

The red clansman felt half dead when the sun finally started to peek over the horizon out the window. As light shed over the room, he sighed deeply. While he’d deprived himself of sleep, he had time to reflect a lot on this. And he’d come to a conclusion. He was so weak. Totsuka and Mikoto had died two years ago. It should have given him plenty of time to stop seeing them die in his dreams. And those dreams had only resurfaced in the last few weeks. 

Saru, on the other hand, the only one between them who had any right to suffer at all, had put his own past behind him and come out stronger. Sure, his father had left an irreversible scar on who Saru was, but the blue clansman wouldn’t show that to anyone. Misaki often wished he could be like that. It was annoying as hell, not knowing what Saruhiko was thinking, but that was better than being an open book like Yata. 

When Yata came out of his thoughts, he looked over to see Saru’s eyes on him. As soon as he was caught, the blue clansman pulled his legs off of his friend’s lap and shot him a glare.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

Yata winced. “Pfft, ‘course I did.”

“Does being an idiot also make you a bad liar?” Fushimi crossed his arms and sat up, still looking tired, but much better than yesterday. 

“Shut your mouth,” the red said sharply. “I stayed awake for you, dumbass, you would think you’d be a little more grateful.”

“Grateful for what? You killing yourself? And for what, exactly? To avoid hitting me again?” Fushimi sounded furious, and when Fushimi was angry, most people were smart enough to run. Yata, however... 

“Yes! Why else?”

“I’d be more worried about you than me. I can take a little hit, you know that. What you can’t take- no one can- is sleep deprivation. You’re so stupid.”

Yata looked away, unable to find an argument. Unfortunately, Saruhiko was a lot smarter than him, leaving any sort of debate one-sided. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed deeply, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” Saru amended under his breath. His face was flushed, and he collapsed against the back of the couch. “Thanks,” the last part was nearly inaudible, but Yata caught it, and he reeled back in shock. 

“Uh… you’re welcome,” he answered, turning the television on. “Um... what do you want for breakfast?”

“Not hungry,” the blue clansman muttered, and he buried his face in his arms to block out the encroaching sunlight. 

“Well, if I’m gonna stop not sleeping, you’re not going without eating,” Yata replied, going into the kitchen. He retrieved a fuji apple from the refrigerator, tossing it to Fushimi, which the taller boy was able to catch. “Eat that, at least,” Yata ordered. 

Fushimi made his signature “tch” sound behind his teeth, but he obeyed his friend. 

“So, uh…” Yata was tightening his skateboard wheels while Fushimi ate. “Do you have anything on your mind, Saru?”

Silence. “Not at all.”


	6. Lovers' Quarrel

Saruhiko, per usual, had a lot on his mind. He wished he knew how to say things without fearing how they would sound. The facts were that Yata didn’t care about the pretty phrasing or the careful thought Saru put into his words; the red clansman cared only for the content. And with Misaki, one couldn’t blanket harsh words in pretty prose, otherwise the red would absolutely not understand it. 

“Saru-” Misaki walked in from the kitchen with a bottle of water and fever meds. “How do you feel?”

“Doesn’t matter. I have work tomorrow, and I can’t stay home because Mr. Munakata asked me to do something for him,” Fushimi didn’t take his eyes off the first-person shooting game he was playing. While he feigned disinterest when playing with Misaki, the fact of the matter was he loved video games. And he was  _ good _ .

“You can’t go to work if you’re sick, monkey,” Yata protested.

“I’ll be fine. I’m leaving tonight anyway so you can get some sleep,” Saru’s voice stated that this was a final decision.

Of course, Misaki was the most stubborn person he’d ever met. 

“Don’t make me call in sick for you,” he crossed his arms. “I’m not letting you go anywhere until you stop being a human heater.”

A sigh was all he got in response. Yata took that as some sort of victory and took a seat beside his friend to watch him play. He took a sip of the tea- extra caffeine- he’d brewed that morning. Fushimi either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Misaki’s hands were shaking as he lifted the cup to his mouth. 

“You know the idea is to shoot the bastards, right?” Yata crossed his arms. 

“If I go this way, I’ll have to deal with less of them. It’s so inconvenient to kill all of them,” Fushimi replied lazily. 

“Whatever.”

Misaki leaned back once more, and after a few moments of deafening silence, he finally couldn’t stand keeping things bottled up between them anymore.

“So what’s this about, anyway? Why can’t you tell me what you’re thinking? You promised, Saruhiko. You promised you would start trying to put things into words for me, since I’m too dumb to understand them any other way,” Yata blurted out. 

He was met with silence. 

“I know you could never open up at home… but I just think we’ve known each other long enough for you to trust me! What’s holding you back?” by this point, the red had gotten himself worked up, balling his hands into tight fists in his lap. He glared down at them and watched his knuckles turn white. 

Fushimi wouldn’t look at Yata, or even look away from the flashing ‘game over’ screen, but to the red’s surprise, he didn’t just sigh at him. “If you really knew me like you think you do, you’d understand me enough by now to answer your own question.”

He might as well have punched Yata in the gut. “Saruhiko…”

“No, you’re right. Sorry,” Fushimi didn’t sound sorry. 

“Can’t you look at me, at least?” Yata stood up and went to block the screen. Almost instantly, Saru’s eyes flickered away. “Saruhiko! Look at me!” Without thinking, Yata grabbed Saru by his chin, forcing his eyes up to him. In the very same second, Saru’s eyes filled with a deep-rooted look of fear, and he grimaced as if Misaki might strike him at any minute. This wasn’t Saru’s normal show of paranoia and overly cautious nature- this was something primal, instilled in him when he was young. 

Realizing what he’d done, and what it had meant, Yata dropped his friend back against the couch, shocked and angry at himself. The two of them were shaking, but Saru’s eyes had gone glassy and distant, and he seemed to be looking through Yata’s chest. Yata shook his head.. “I…. I’m sorry, Saru. I-I didn’t mean- anything by it. You know that…”

“Go away,” the monotone had returned, but there was a certain darkness added to it. 

“Saru…”

“Don’t call me that. Go,” Fushimi finally met Yata’s eyes, and just like always, there was nothing in them. 

“Fine! Shut me out some more! Like it changes what he did! Your father is dead, Fushimi! I’m not! I’m here now, I’m what matters! I’m not going to hurt you!” Yata couldn’t hold himself back anymore. “You have to move on from him! Stop acting like he might jump out from every corner to tell you what the hell you’re doing wrong! I can tell you that right here!”

And then, something came into Fushimi’s expression. But it wasn’t a smirk, it wasn’t anger or fear… It was hurt. Fushimi’s eyes went wide, and his lips parted in shock, but also in some sort of wince. The blue started to push himself up. 

“Where are you going?” Yata demanded. 

“Home.”

It held so much weight that Yata felt the word drop in the air between them. “Like hell you are!” he sprinted to the staircase and blocked his friend from going that way. 

“Move.”

“Saruhiko, you have to talk to someone! If it’s not me, then who?” Yata was still trembling, all with anger, fear, and adrenaline.

“Move.”

“No!”

Fushimi reached into his belt and produced some of his throwing knives, clearly a threat. He glared at Yata. “Move.”

Yata’s shoulders fell back, and his expression merged into one of acceptance. “Are we really doing this?” he asked quietly. 

Fushimi threw the knife. 

Yata saw it spiral through the air towards him, and he was able to jump and kick the handle out of thin air so it sunk into the wood beside him. Fushimi threw the rest of his knives together, all of which Yata was barely able to deflect and dodge. He was about to make a light hearted taunt, but Fushimi was charging at him. He practically tackled the shorter boy, forgetting that Yata was standing at the edge of the stairs. 

Yata knew right away that they were going to fall, so he locked his arms around Saruhiko in a desperate attempt to protect him from the brunt of the impact. His back collided with a stair about halfway down, then another as his body flipped sideways against his will. All the while he clung to Saruhiko with desperation to shield him. 

He cried out in pain when they landed, feeling a rib snap when his friend landed on top of him. Fushimi shook off the daze and stared down at Yata, concern overtaking whatever anger he’d been feeling. “Misaki…” he whispered.

“Oh my,” Kusanagi said, having watched two clansmen topple down a flight of stairs and land on top of each other. “That was quite a first lovers’ quarrel.”

In spite of his obvious pain, Yata’s head shot up to look at the bartender. “A first  _ what _ ?”


	7. Most Important

Fushimi lugged his body off of Yata’s, earning a yelp of pain from the red clansman. “Fuck!” the ginger cursed. 

“I’m sorry,” Fushimi said quickly. “Are you okay?”

Their fight was momentarily forgotten. Yata placed both hands over his lower chest and whimpered under his breath. He gasped in pain when he tried to sit up. “I… I cracked a rib, I think. It’s fine, nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Kusanagi was already by their sides. He offered Fushimi a hand up and then looked over Yata, who was struggling to sit up. Kusanagi gently felt his hand down Yata’s abdomen, wincing as if he could feel the pain when Yata cried out. The bartender shook his head. “Definitely a broken rib. I’m not surprised. The two of you are prone to disaster, aren’t you?”

Looking back on the last few days, Fushimi knew that was a fair assessment. And yet he felt himself bristle. “Are you going to help him or just keep talking about what a disaster we are?”

“Easy, Saruhiko,” Kusanagi smiled gently. “Of course I’ll help him.”

Fushimi and Kusanagi slipped their arms under Yata’s back, hooking his arms around each of their shoulders. They dragged him over to the couch and eased him down into a sitting position. Kusanagi went over to a medicine cabinet behind the bar and returned with ace wrap, scissors, and an ice pack. 

“Alright, Fushimi. Help him get his shirt off.”

“Here?” Yata interjected, cheeks turning pink. Despite being a prideful, arrogant asshole, the red clansman was highly conservative when it came to his body… and the bodies of others. He was shy about those things, and Fushimi knew that. 

“Yes, here. I can’t very well get you back upstairs until we’re finished,” Kusanagi answered, snipping off the end of the ace wrap. 

Yata stole a glance at the large bar window behind him. There were people walking back and forth alongside it, and he bit his lip. Fushimi saw, and he quickly placed his body between the back of the couch and the window, leaning over Yata to conceal him from the view of anyone who passed by. Yata stared at him for a moment.

“I owe you,” was all Saru said. “Now lift your arms.”

Yata did as he was told, flinching in pain with every move he made. Fushimi leaned down and helped the red clansman ease his shirt up over his head, then slipped it off. Yata almost instantly drew his arms into himself to hide his body as best he could.

Fushimi wasn’t sure why he was so modest. Yata was thin, sure, but he was also lean. Though his spine protruded slightly, his chest was defined, and his shoulders were broad. The muscles he did have were small, frankly, but toned. He was pale, but not so much that he looked sickly.

“The only thing I can do is bind these ribs and have you wait for it to heal,” Kusanagi spoke softly. “You aren’t in danger of puncturing a lung, so just take it easy for a few days, alright, Yata? Which means no more diving down the stairs.”

“Yeah sure,” the red murmured.

Kusanagi wrapped the entirety of Yata’s abdomen up in tight bandages, and though his face was pained, the red didn’t complain. Fushimi shook his head. Naturally, he knew this was his fault- the entire argument had been. His friend was absolutely right. Even after promising he would do better, he still couldn’t bring himself to say things. And he knew it wasn’t fair to expect Yata to just understand. 

When Kusanagi finished, Yata quickly pulled his oversized white shirt back over his head. He grimaced. Kusanagi offered him the ice pack, and Saruhiko took it for him. 

“Thanks,” Misaki spoke a little too sharply. 

“No problem,” Kusanagi returned his supplies to the medicine cabinet. “Now get upstairs and lie down. I swear the two of you will give me gray hair.”

The red clansman carefully forced himself into a standing position. He struggled to stay upright, wavering on his feet. Saruhiko noticed and quickly offered a shoulder for support. Misaki seemed to grudgingly accept, and the two of them began to make their way back upstairs. It was a slow journey, and Misaki was clearly in pain, but he wouldn’t voice it.

Saru helped him back into their old bedroom and eased him down onto the bed, which let out a squeal of protest. Saruhiko sat down on his own bed, producing a similar sound, and for a few moments, there was silence. 

Until Misaki laughed. 

“Just like the old days,” he murmured. 

“What?”

“You have no idea how many scrapes you and I have gotten into where I didn’t make it out clean, do you?”

A hint of guilt in Saru’s eyes. Yata noticed and amended his statement. 

“It was never that bad, you know? I always came back fine.”

“Then I wasn’t doing my job properly.”

“I always assumed you didn’t wanna kill me.”

“That was part of it.”

Another period of silence. Finally, Saruhiko was the one who broke it. He took a deep breath and tried to think about how he wanted to say this. His mind flashed back on what Misaki had said. His father was dead… Misaki wouldn’t hurt him. 

“I…” he began softly. “I’m sorry, Misaki. You were right. I am scared that he’s still around, still judging every move I make, every feeling I confess to. I’m always scared that it’s gonna make me say and do something to you that I don’t mean, like I just did. Damn it, I’m terrified.”

Misaki turned his head to look at Saru. Though the red was lying on his back with his hands folded in front of him, gently placed against his sore rib cage, he could still just barely meet his friend’s eyes. And he offered a small, comforting smile. 

“I guess I knew that part,” he said softly. “But I’m still grateful you said it.”

Saru nodded, then continued of his own will. “It’s never going to be easy for me to tell you things, Misaki. But I made a promise and I know I have to try. Because I… I really do care about you. I know you have Homra and that takes first place in your life no matter what, but I don’t have that same connection with my clan, and I don’t think I ever will. So, really, you’re most important to me.”

As he spoke, his voice was shaking and strained. This was the most he’d ever said aloud about what he was thinking. And the visible shock on Yata’s face made every word of it worthwhile. The red clansman put a hand on his own chest in disbelief.

“That’s a lot…. I’m most important?”

“I’ll say things once,” Fushimi smirked. “I don’t care how dumb you are, I will not say them a second time.”

Misaki smiled and turned his eyes to the fading ceiling, still shocked that Saru had given him what he did. “Wow… Do you know what this means?”

“I’m just as messed up as you are?”

“No. Well, yeah. But no, it means that we’re both the most important things in each other’s lives.”

Saru’s eyes widened just for a moment. “What?”

“Well, you said I’m first for you… and obviously Anna is first for me. But you’re right there with her, you know?”

“I am…?”

“Duh, who else would be?”

Saru didn’t answer, but he double-checked that Yata was still looking at the ceiling before he smiled. 


	8. Sleep Well

The rest of the day was quiet. Fushimi took a nap, and his temperature had returned to normal. Yata laid in bed, as instructed, reading vintage comics. He seemed fidgety, constantly shaking his foot or biting his nails, but nothing too out of place for him. Saruhiko knew that Misaki just hated lying still for too long. 

But the sun crawled back under the horizon before too long, and Saru looked at Misaki. His eyes were dark underneath, and he was struggling to keep his head up. It was time to try a new approach. One where he simplified his words and went straight to the point.

“Misaki,” Saru said gently. “You have to sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow now that I’m not sick anymore. And I don’t want you to be here alone if you’re too exhausted to move. So I’m asking you to sleep.”

“I can’t… not with you here. If you want me to sleep, you have to leave,” Misaki murmured, disoriented by his own over-exertion.

“I don’t want you in here alone either. You could hurt yourself,” Saruhiko sat on the edge of his bed, debating if he should really do this or not. Just the idea of it made his heart go into rapid overdrive. 

“So?”

“Maybe, if you had someone… close to you, it would help. Sleeping alone can’t be good for you,” Saru winced. That sounded really stupid. He expected Yata to laugh him out of the room, maybe even curse at him for good measure. 

To his surprise, Misaki dropped his comic and murmured, “Okay, we can try it.”

Saruhiko stood up, panicked. He really hadn’t expected to get this far. But he walked over to Misaki’s bed and carefully laid down beside him. It was a small twin bed, so both the boys on it was a hassle, but it was going to work, dammit. Saru’s heart was racing as he settled down against Misaki.

Misaki immediately twisted onto his side, wincing as he did so, so that his back was pressed against Saru’s stomach. He laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. 

“Maybe if I… if I put my arm around you, it’d help keep you from moving so much?” Saru’s voice nearly cracked with panic when he spoke, but he’d gone too far to turn back now. 

“Sure,” Misaki sighed, almost completely out of it. 

If Saru hadn’t been hysterical before, he certainly was now. He did everything in his power to hide it, of course. Just because he was trying to get better with putting things into words, that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep some things to himself. He gently slipped an arm around Misaki’s waist, cautious with his injured rib. 

“Tell no one about this,” Misaki muttered with a lighthearted grin. 

“I would never,” Saru reassured him.

Misaki burrowed backwards slightly, so he was pressed up against Saru’s chest. Saru ran his other arm around Misaki as well, embracing him. Misaki’s breath was slow, and it was safe to assume he was asleep. Saru brushed his friend’s hair back away from his face and gently pulled his hat off, hanging it on the bed post above them. 

“Sleep well,” he whispered, his voice far more intense than he would normally let on. “I’ll be right here to keep you safe, I promise. Good night, Misaki.”

To his shock and slight horror, Misaki revealed that he was not in fact asleep just yet. “Good night.”

At that, Misaki finally drifted into unconsciousness. Saru kept his promise, and he didn’t let go. Though Misaki began to twist and turn, causing himself pain, Saruhiko began to rub his back in gentle motions, and it seemed to calm him down instantly. Misaki slept soundly the rest of the night, for what could have been the first time in months. 

Saru tried to stay awake as well, fully aware of how much of a hypocrite that made him, but he couldn’t very well fall asleep with Misaki so close to him. His heart had finally slowed down, and as he held the red clansman in a firm but soft embrace, he realized he never wanted this night to end. 

Yata was breathing so steadily, and there was a look of contentment on his face. Though the red wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable- not like Saruhiko was- he didn’t often let his guard down. At this moment, however, he was completely relaxed. It made Saru smile just watching him sleep. Misaki shifted in his sleep, and he grimaced. 

Saruhiko laid his head down so his chin rested on top of Misaki’s head. His hair smelled equally of the smoky bar downstairs and of the spice shampoo he used. Saru smiled again, unable to hold himself back. 

“You moron,” he whispered, both to himself and to Misaki. 

As the hours passed, Saru couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do if he saw him like this. He knew it was stupid- that it didn’t matter- but the thought still lingered. His father had threatened Misaki before, and Saru hadn’t stood for it. He found it odd that he was so ready to protect Misaki from his father when he couldn’t protect himself. 

Misaki twisted lightly, inching his body onto its other side so he was facing Saruhiko. He pressed his head into the blue’s chest, snuggling into his arms. 

As precious as this time was to him, Saruhiko reminded himself that Misaki was sleeping. He didn’t know what he was doing, and this would all disappear when he woke up. As far as Misaki was concerned, Saru was and would always be just his best friend. While it wasn’t what he wanted, it was good enough for him, for now. 

The hours passed slowly, and Saru couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t dream of it. In fact, he’d never been more awake. 

Finally, the sun betrayed Saruhiko. It was time to go to work. He untangled himself from Misaki’s grasp, standing up. That was it. It would never happen again. The knowledge of that weighed heavy on Saru as he put his shirt, vest, and overcoat on. He pulled on each of his boots and left a note for Misaki saying he would be home before dark. 

Home. 

No, that wasn’t right. 

He scribbled out the word home and just wrote “back.” He briefly considered writing something stupid like a heart or smiling face, but he decided against it. Why did it matter anyway? Misaki would overlook it. 

He wandered downstairs and sat at the bar for a few minutes. Kusanagi was already there, setting out the booze. He paused briefly when he saw Saruhiko. 

“Hello, Fushimi. How’s Yata?”

The blue clansman tried not to go red. “He’s alright… handling the wound well.”

“I figured he would. For as much of an open book as he is, that boy doesn’t let on when he’s hurting,” Kusanagi smiled affectionately. 

“I know… I’ll take a drink.”

“Looking to put some hair on your chest?”

Saruhiko knew it wasn’t wise to drink before work, but he needed something to take his mind off of last night. More importantly, the fact that last night was over. “More or less.”

“Aren’t you three months younger than Yata? That means you’re not legal for another six weeks,” Kusanagi folded his arms casually, leaning back against an empty shelf. He appeared impossibly smug about this knowledge. 

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “And Misaki says you’re cool.”

Kusanagi smiled, but there was something more underneath. “Fushimi, drinking isn’t going to make your feelings go away. I’m sorry.”

Saruhiko looked away and couldn’t find it in himself to respond. He grabbed his sword from where he left it the night before and left in a whirlwind of blue. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God he's pining so hard. Well we're entering the final act gang. I think four or five more chapters should do it.


	9. A Day Alone

The bed was cold when Yata woke up. No part of his body, aside from his rib, hurt him, and that was a sign that the night had been easy for him. That, and he felt rested. He felt good. The red clansman stretched as he got up, causing a strain on his broken rib. He quickly doubled over to cradle the bone. 

“Damn it,” he whispered. 

Carefully, he stood up, only to cause himself more pain. He wandered out into the living area and saw a small note taped to the wall. He tilted his head a bit in curiosity as he plucked it from where it was secured. It was from Saruhiko. 

“He went to work without saying goodbye?” Yata mumbled. “Figures. Damn monkey doesn’t tell me anything.”

He paused. That wasn’t true. He tried to remember what happened last night. The only glimpses he had were surely a dream. But he was so out of it that he couldn’t possibly tell what was real and what hadn’t been. He’d seen Tatara and Mikoto die again, but it was different. It was something that still hurt, but that he could make peace with some day. And Saruhiko… had his arms around Yata all throughout the night.

That was definitely a dream. Saru was not a touchy kind of guy. 

And yet…

Yata could swear he felt the ghost of Saruhiko against him. Normally he’d be disgusted by the thought, but if Saru had done that, maybe that’s what helped him sleep so well. And maybe it wasn’t all that disgusting to think about. Maybe it was sweet- maybe it felt good to be held close to someone like that, if he really thought about it. 

“Stop it, idiot,” he snapped at himself. “You don’t need to think about it because it didn’t happen, get it together.”

He folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. Yata moved into the kitchen and started gathering supplies for an easy breakfast. After examination, he decided to make cheesecake instead. It was a western dish with a Japanese twist that he’d never made before. He figured Saru could come back to a new surprise. 

As he worked, he pulled his headphones onto his ears and played a song that Saruhiko had saved onto his phone. Saruhiko wasn’t very outward with what he listened to, but Yata had seen it on his music list and decided to give it a try. To his surprise, it was exactly the sort of thing he would listen to of his own accord. A rap song with a fast pace and a catchy chorus. Yata found his head bobbing to the beat. 

The song was about a guy who lost everything in a bet. Including his girlfriend who’d run off with the guy who won. All the dude had left was his best friend.

Yata smiled. As if that didn’t remind him of anyone he knew. 

It was the only song he caught on Saruhiko’s list, but he would definitely make a point to beg to see Saru’s music later. It might have changed since they were in school together. Most of what Saru had listened to in those days were songs that Yata had to show him.

After that song came to an end, one of Tatara’s original songs, recorded specifically for the members of Homra, played softly in his ears. He bit his lip and forced himself to listen the whole way through, despite the fact that he’d started trembling. Tears fell, and damn it, he couldn’t stop them. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. He wasn’t cutting onions, but maybe if he pretended he was, he wouldn’t have to feel so weak. 

Yata spent the rest of the day, after finishing the cheesecake, playing video games and trying in vain to beat Saruhiko’s high score. He never came close. The man was a beast when it came to video games. 

The sun had set, and Yata was getting worried. Saru was supposed to be back before dark. And the light was slipping away. He rushed down the stairs as soon as the sun fell behind the buildings in the west, and he sat down at the bar. 

“Hey, Yata, are you okay?” Kusanagi looked concerned. “How’s the rib holding up?”

Yata had barely noticed the pain coming down. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “Where’s that idiot at? He said he’d be back before dark! Damn monkey…”

“Why do you call him that?” Kusanagi cocked his head, genuinely curious. 

“That’s what his name means,” Yata shrugged. 

“What kind of parents…?” Kusanagi smirked, but it faded when he realized the answer to his own question. “I see. I’m surprised you call him that, then. I'm more surprised it doesn't bother him more than he lets on.”

Yata shrugged again, but he was chewing his nails and tapping his foot against the base of the bar stool he sat on. “Where is he?”

“I’m sure he’s okay. Fushimi can handle himself, I don’t think you have to worry,” Kusanagi reassured his fellow clansman. Yata was unconvinced. 

Eventually, the doors came open, and Saruhiko appeared. Yata had a right to be worried, as it stood. Saruhiko’s job with the blues was always taxing and difficult, but he looked  _ bad _ today. As if he’d been beaten to a pulp and left to find his own way home. There were bruises and scrapes on his face, and he walked with a limp, favoring his left leg. He practically collapsed against the bar, dragging himself onto a stool. 

“Can I get that drink now?” he muttered, voice weak. 

On cue, Kusanagi poured him a shot glass of vodka. Fushimi downed it in one gulp, then lowered his head into his arms, catching his breath. 

“What happened?” Yata demanded.

“Nothing serious,” Fushimi lied, breathless. “Mr. Munakata just sent me out to deal with a gang that’s been causing trouble in our sector of town. There were a few more guys than we thought there’d be. I took care of them, though.”

“Looks like they took care of you, too,” Yata folded his arms. “You’re not planning on going to work tomorrow like that, are you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Nothing’s broken, I can still fight just fine. No reason to stay here and do nothing. You’re the one with the broken rib,” Fushimi replied, toying with his own hands and staring into the glass as if it was about to reveal some deep secret of the universe to him. 

“And you say I’m the stupid one.”

“You are.”

“Whatever,” Yata stood up, not without a bit of struggle. “If you’re gonna insist on going in tomorrow, at least let’s get some sleep now.”

Fushimi nodded slightly and pushed himself up from the bar. “Alright.”

The duo made their way up the stairs, but as Fushimi managed to struggle his way to the top, Kusanagi called out to Yata. 

“Don’t be afraid to tell him,” he said gently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” from anyone else, it would have been denial, but Yata was absolutely serious. 

“How you feel, Yata.”

“I never have been,” Yata answered. He looked up the stairs after his friend. “I’m waiting for him to be ready to hear it.”

“I know. That time might come sooner than you think.”

And that night, just like the night before, the two of them pressed into Yata’s bed at Fushimi’s recommendation, both fully aware that it was happening this time. He reasoned that it had helped Yata keep from hurting either of them by mistake the night before. So again that night, Yata pressed into Fushimi, who fell asleep from the exhaustion of the day almost instantly, with the red clansman not too far behind. Both slept soundly.


	10. In Trouble

Saruhiko got up the next morning, still curled up next to his friend, but Yata was turned away from him, breathing deeply. He had his arms folded up under his head, acting as a pillow. Saru woke up with his own arms locked around Yata’s torso. He eased himself off of the bed, trying not to move it too much to spare the red clansman’s rib.

He was in a considerable amount of pain from the day before. He hadn’t been lying to Misaki. Nothing was broken, but the knee that Yata had kicked two nights ago had suffered some more damage. Walking was no longer an easy feat. 

He strapped his sword to his hip before he left. As he walked downstairs, Kusanagi gave him a look. It was stern, and for the first time since Saru had first visited the group, the man was completely unsmiling. 

“What’s that look for?” Fushimi muttered. 

“You aren’t looking good, Saruhiko. Maybe you should let your king know that there’s a good chance you won’t make it through that ordeal a second time… should he see fit to send you to deal with the exact same problem again.”

“I’m fine, Kusanagi,” Saru rolled his eyes. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

“Yata’s worried about you.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Saruhiko…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Before Kusanagi could respond, Saruhiko slipped out the door into the frigid winter air. It was a long walk across the city to reach the blue clan’s headquarters, and it gave Saruhiko some time to reflect on everything. Mostly on Misaki and what he was going to say to him when he saw him again. He decided that he was done hiding. He had to talk to Misaki about… god forbid, his feelings. 

When he finally came to the tower, he made the trek up the stairs in silence. He walked down a long empty hallway before knocking on the door to the meeting room. There was no answer, but Fushimi walked inside anyway. 

“Mr. Munakata,” he acknowledged. “What’s the news on the Blanks?”

“They have infiltrated most of the lower sector. I understand you had a rough encounter with a group of them yesterday, is that correct?”

“I was able to handle it just fine, sir.”

“Seri saw you before you returned to Homra. She was able to confirm for me that you did not make it out unscathed. I can see here and now that you were injured yesterday. The only mission I can give you today involves going back to deal with another group of the Blanks. Do you think you can handle that, given your current state?” the blue king turned from the window to look at Fushimi. 

“Yes, sir, I do,” Fushimi laid a hand on his sword, giving him a firm nod. 

Reishi sighed. “Very well. I can’t deny that you’re the only one I trust to deal with this matter properly, but do try to avoid a fight this time. If you can negotiate with them, do so. I don’t want you getting hurt, do you understand me? Retreat when you must. I know that’s a dirty word for you, but you have orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then you may go. Check in by noon.”

“Very well,” Fushimi turned his back and pushed the door open. 

“And Mr. Fushimi?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

A nod, then Fushimi left the room. He exited the way he’d come, grateful that he didn’t run into anyone who would want to comment on his limp or ask if he was okay again. The blue didn’t want to hear it. He was fine. He’d been through much worse than a scrape with a little gang of thugs and bullies. 

As the clansman exited the building, his phone rang. 

“Misaki?” he answered. 

“Saruhiko, Kusanagi told me… you’re not going back there again are you?” Misaki’s voice wavered, but the red clansman was trying to hide it. 

“It’s part of my job,” Saruhiko paused on the sidewalk, leaning against the closest building to give the scattered pedestrians room to move. “And you calling me while I’m on my way can’t change that. Why can’t you just let it go, Misaki? Why do you care so much about what I can handle and what I can’t?”

“Because I care about  _ you _ , idiot!” Misaki’s voice cracked. 

The bustling town was distracting, so Fushimi took the opportunity to duck into an alley just beyond the building he’d been standing by. He held the phone close to him when he spoke again, voice low.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I still have to follow my captain, because he’s still my king even after the slate is destroyed. You understand that, don’t you?”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Yes, you know I do.”

“Goodbye, Misaki.”

“Wait-” Yata tried again. “Just, I wanna tell you something now.”

A pause. “Can’t this wait until I come back?”

“No… ‘cause, what if… what if something happened? I need you to know this now, before it’s too late,” Misaki sounded desperate.

“Nothing will happen, but say your piece, I suppose.”

“Okay, here goes. Saruhiko, I-”   
Saru gasped as a pair of hands closed around his shoulders. He cried out in pain as he was dragged roughly backwards, forced to drop the phone. He struggled against his captor, but there was more than one. Several new sets of hands clasped around his arms, waist, and a heavier arm around his neck. 

“Hold him still, and get rid of that phone,” a deep masculine voice said from behind him. 

“Misaki!” Saru managed, shouting at the phone’s receiver. “Don’t come after-” 

The arm around his throat cinched tighter, cutting him off. 

“Saruhiko!” Yata’s voice came over the speaker just before one of the many thugs stomped the phone into the concrete, shattering the screen and cutting the connection. 

As soon as the line went dead, Yata dropped his phone. In spite of the dull throb in his rib, he practically sprinted down the stairs, skipping every other one, until he was at the bar. Anna was there with Rikio, and the two of them were chatting with Kusanagi. They all fell into shocked silence when they noticed the state of panic Yata had worked himself into. The red clansman appeared hysterical.

“Saruhiko’s in trouble,” he spoke frantically, turning on heel to make a run for the door. He wasn’t wearing his hat, nor was his hoodie secured around his waist. It appeared as if he’d just woken up. “I gotta find him!”

“Misaki, wait,” Anna latched onto his wrist. “Go to the blue headquarters. Reisi will know where he is. We can come with you.”

Finally, Yata paused for one moment of rational thought. “No way, Anna. I have to do this alone- I won’t risk you, any of you, getting yourselves hurt.”

“Misaki, we’re coming,” her small voice was stern.

Yata sighed. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Anna. But you’re not the king anymore.”

Although the statement clearly stung both of them, Yata grabbed his skateboard in hand and immediately took to the street, heading straight for Scepter 4’s headquarters. Even if it wasn’t true, it had to be said. He wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt for him. 


	11. Open Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Everything in italics contains a memory with strong referenced homophobia! Skip that section if you're sensitive to such material!

__ _ “As if that boy could be any more fucked up,” Niki Fushimi took a swig off his beer bottle, snorting. “I’m tellin’ ya, Kisa, he came out  _ wrong _.” _

__ _ Saruhiko sat on the bottom of the stairs, listening to this. He was barely thirteen at the time. He sat with his knees up, arms folded and chin resting on them. In his hands, he held the now-destroyed gift Misaki had given him for his birthday the day before. It had been a few preserved flowers and insects, dried in resin to look like a small garden. And now it was broken into several pieces.  _

__ _ “Why did we get saddled with something like him… it’s that damn girly boy he always hangs out with. If I see that kid, he’s gonna pay dearly. Going and turning my only son like  _ him _ … little queer brat, anyway.” _

__ _ “The boy’s not gay, Niki,” Fushimi’s mother rolled her eyes. “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know anything yet.” _

__ _ “Dragging my name through the mud,” he muttered, ignoring her. “That’s all he’s doing. Ugly little monkey. Can’t get any girls so he swings the other way. Sounds like him. If things don’t go his way he turns his back on it and tries something new.” _

__ _ Saru was crying now. And wondering if it was true. Wondering how he saw Misaki, and mostly wondering if that meant he really was gay. But it didn’t matter. No matter what he felt, he had to keep it to himself. Not because he was afraid… but to protect Misaki.  _

To protect Misaki…

Protect him…

Saru’s eyelids were heavy. When he opened them, he was greeted by darkness. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back. He was on his knees, and his head spun and pounded the moment he tried to move. 

That was a bad sign. 

No sooner had he finally pried his eyes open, a dim ceiling light came on. He was surrounded on all sides by four large guys. Most of them brandished baseball bats, not like Misaki who pulled off the look well, but more like guys who just wanted to cause as much pain as possible in a short amount of time. One of them held Saru’s own sword over his shoulders like it was a trophy.

“Can I have my sword back?” Saruhiko said sarcastically. “The insurance on that thing is ridiculously overpriced.”

A baseball bat was driven into his stomach to silence him. He coughed, and blood showered the concrete in front of him.

“Baseball bats, tch,” he rolled his eyes. “So barbaric. Can one of you fine idiots at least explain why I’m here? As in, alive?”

The man who brandished Saruhiko’s sword stepped forward, holding a hand out to stop the largest guy from hitting him again. He had a buzz cut and dark eyes that were slightly sunken in. He smiled cruelly. “The famous Fushimi, right? One of blue’s most valuable assets even after that idiotic slate was destroyed?”

“How do you know about the slate?”

“Oh, you don’t know? I used to be in the green clan, myself. Silver king really did us dirty by stripping everyone of their power. But that’s not why you’re here, Saruhiko.”

Saru bristled. “Don’t call me that.”

“So sorry…  _ Saru _ .”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Yes, those of us who were unhappy with losing our powers banded together to form the Blanks. None of Homra would join, obviously. Self-absorbed pricks. So we figured we could start gaining power with you instead. And we know your little skater boyfriend is gonna show up soon as well. We wanted to have you greet him.”

Saruhiko realized exactly what they wanted. “He would never leave Homra, not even for me. You’re all idiots if you think otherwise.”

“We’ll see, Saruhiko. We’ve been watching you for months…”

“That’s creepy.”

“... and we’ve been able to determine that together, you two are unstoppable. A force like that backing us up, and we’ll still rule this city. Just like we did before.”

Saruhiko blinked. “This is a stupid plan, you realize that? My king is going to know where I am, and he’ll always fight for me. And even without his power, Yata will not hesitate to burn this place to the ground.”

“Just as we won’t hesitate to burn him alive.”

“You’ll wish you hadn’t touched him if you try,” Saruhiko snarled. 

“A challenge? From a bound man?” the ringleader sneered and pushed Fushimi’s sword into his stomach, piercing flesh and causing him to cry out in pain. “You are a fool, after all, aren’t you, Fushimi Saruhiko?”

Yata burst into the king’s meeting room with his skateboard under his arm. “Munakata!” He didn’t bother with respectful titles. “Where is Saruhiko?”

“We’re not sure,” the blue king didn’t look all that surprised when the red clansman intruded on his work. “His phone cannot be tracked. The most we’ve been able to gather is that he was taken by a gang called the Blanks.”

“The what?”

“We know next to nothing about them… just that they’re violent and dangerous, even more so than most of Homra.”

A growl from the red’s throat.

“As I was saying, he could be in any one of their three known hideouts. Or he could be somewhere entirely different. It’s impossible to trace him just from the information we’ve compiled. I’m sorry, Misaki Yata, but I cannot find him at present,” the blue king looked up at a holographic board displaying the sparse info they did have. 

Yata snarled. “So you’re saying you haven’t even started to search the hideouts yet?” when he was met with silence, he groaned. “I’ll do it myself. Where are they?”

“Do not be rash, red clansman. We are working to deduce-”

“Where are these buildings?” Yata shouted. “You can deduce all you want. Talking ain’t gonna get us anywhere! I have to find Saruhiko  _ now _ ! It’s time to take action!”

“Very well,” Munakata replied. “But I will not risk my clansmen until I’ve had time to research this further. If you wish to do a preliminary search of these buildings, it will be on your own, am I understood?”

“Yeah, just gimme the damn addresses,” Yata placed his hands on his hips. 

The blue king scribbled them all onto a piece of white paper and obediently delivered it to the impatient Homra clansman. 

Yata wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting when he entered the first building. The long hallway and concrete staircase didn’t surprise him much. Nor did the leaky ceiling and abandoned feel to the entire place. But at the top of the second staircase, in the first room on the right, he ran into something that felt a little unexpected. 

Saruhiko lay on his stomach in a pool of his own blood. 


	12. Fight For You

Time seemed to stop, and silence rang heavy in Yata’s ears. Before his eyes flashed the same gruesome scene as Tatara, all over again. And the empty pit in his stomach fell deeper with each passing, agonizing second. 

Saruhiko lay motionless on his stomach, blood pooling under his body and at the corner of his mouth. It looked just like it had when Tatara was shot. The same nightmare that consumed Yata for the last two years. 

Yata’s legs felt like they were made of cast iron, rooted in place. If he went over there and had to witness Saru… like Tatara… he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move. His heart was in his throat, and his chest heaved with panic. 

“No!” the scream ripped from somewhere inside him, animalistic and desperate.

He finally sprinted forward and dropped to his knees, sliding on the concrete to kneel beside Saru. Yata wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders and picked his body up in his arms, trying to be easy on him, but he was trembling. 

“No, hey, Saruhiko can you hear me?” he practically shouted at him. “Come on, open your damn eyes, say you can hear me. I can’t lose you, too, not now.”

“I’m not dead yet… idiot,” Saru whispered weakly. 

Yata felt relief wash over him like an ice cold wave. He hugged Saru with all his might, forgetting to be gentle, before he finally took a good look at the wound. It was clearly created by a blade, and a long one at that. A sword, maybe. There was a long gash across his friend’s stomach, running from the bottom of his chest to his hip on the opposite side. It appeared to be incredibly deep as it was still gushing blood.

“No!” Saru managed to shout, his voice hoarse and broken. He whipped a throwing knife from its place on his belt through the air, so it clattered against something just behind Yata.

Yata looked over his shoulder just in time to see a sword- Saruhiko’s sword- coming down toward his face. He kicked his skateboard up just in time to parry the blow. He was on his feet in an instant, placing his body between Saruhiko and his attacker to act as some sort of shield. He had his arms spread to either side.

“There’s no need to fight,” the man decided suddenly, pointing his weapon at the ground. “My name is Izayo, and I’m in charge of the Blanks. Sorry about your friend, Yatagarasu, but he was being quite unruly with me and my boys… almost took one of their fingers off. I’m sure you understand that means we needed to rough him up a bit.”

“Who the hell are you?” Yata demanded, eyes burning with hatred.

“The Blanks are clansmen left behind when their kings lost power. We want to be in charge again, and with you and Fushimi on our side, that will make things so much easier. I guess what I’m saying is, I want you to join the Blanks. If you do, you and Saruhiko will be put under our protection.”

“You want me to leave Homra for the likes of you? That’s never gonna happen!”

“I was so hoping we wouldn’t have to do it this way,” Izayo shook his head as if in disappointment. The Blank nodded at someone just behind Yata.

Saruhiko cried out in pain, and Yata spun on heel to see a huge dude with long mangled hair standing over him. He held a bloody baseball bat in his hands. The man looked up from Saru and sneered. 

“Don’t touch him!” Yata started to move forward, but was stopped by the glimmer of a sword in front of his throat. 

“The only way you make it out of this, Yata Misaki, is by joining us. We don’t want to kill either of you, but since our dear Saru is closer to death, I suppose we can start with him if you refuse my offer.”

Yata swallowed. “I… Listen maybe we can cut a deal?”

“A deal?” Izayo lowered the weapon a bit further. 

“Yeah… like maybe if you put that sword on the floor, I won’t have to do this!” Yata flipped upwards on his board, landing downwards on the man and the weapon. He was able to push the sword back into its wielder’s shoulder, a move that had never worked on Saruhiko. Saru knew him too well.

“Kill Fushimi!” the man ordered after howling in pain at the fresh wound. 

Yata was already on top of it. He kicked the man holding the bat hard enough to send him crashing to the ground, then he snagged the metal bat for himself. He looked down at his injured companion. 

“Saruhiko?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Saru said breathlessly, pressing a hand down over the wound to quell the bleeding. 

“Forget recruiting you!” Izayo screamed from where he knelt on the ground, clutching the wound in his shoulder. He picked up the sword from the ground in front of him and forced himself to stand up, grunting in pain. “You’re both more trouble than you’re worth. And you both pose a threat to what I’m trying to build! Blanks, kill them!”

Yata didn’t like the sound of that. 

The red clansman ran to Saruhiko, pulling him up onto his back, just like he had when they’d defeated the green clan and escaped that dumb kid together. Only this time, Saru was in far worse shape and entirely unable to hold on. His deadweight created a heavy burden on Yata’s back, and especially on his broken rib. “Okay, I’ve gotta get you outta here before this goes south.”

“Misaki, no, you have to go. Tell Munakata where they are… just leave me, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s gonna happen,” Yata agreed sarcastically. “No, just… stay here at least,” he helped Saruhiko sit up against the wall. “It’s safer than the middle of the floor, isn’t it? There’s gonna be a fight there soon.”

“Misaki, you can’t fight them all,” Saruhiko winced. He was losing consciousness. “Please don’t try.”

“Hey, I’m Homra. Retreat isn’t in my tiny vocabulary,” Yata tried to look confident… until he turned around. There was a massive crowd of guys in white hoodies standing around him, each looking varying degrees of aggressive. His brave face fell. 

Yata placed the metal bat on his shoulder in a threatening manner. He jerked his chin up, a sign that he was inviting a challenge. With his power, a group this size would have been no trouble at all, but with just a baseball bat and a skateboard? He wasn’t sure how long he could last. Yata tensed as the first wave of guys charged him. 


	13. Dead or Alive

It was chaotic, fighting so many guys at once. And no surprise, Yata got hit. A lot. He managed to bash a few of them in the head before he got the same treatment. As his vision was knocked blurry from a baseball bat, another person kicked him in the back. He had his skateboard nearby, and he quickly pounced onto it in an attempt to move backwards and away from being surrounded. 

“Damn it,” he whispered as they followed him like a raging sea. There were at least twenty guys, only three of them having been knocked unconscious by Yata’s baseball bat, and there was no escape. 

He ducked to dodge Izayo and his sword, then jumped with his board in order to avoid getting kicked in the face. At this point, dodging was his best option, which was bad. Yata excelled on the offense, and he couldn’t even play to his strengths right now. He was backing himself into a corner. That was both an advantage and a disadvantage at this point, but he had to try. 

“Last chance to reconsider,” Izayo placed the blade at Yata’s throat. 

The Homra clansman paused as if to think. “Hm. So if I join you, Saruhiko and I get out of here just fine, and we go back to ruling the city like we did before, right?”

“Exactly.”

“That would also mean leaving Homra… a clan that’s already lost too many members.”

“Which is why it’s dead and broken. You staying there merely implies they have you trapped, and joining us is how you can reach your true potential. Homra is a joke at this point.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Yata snarled and brought his board up to knock the sword sideways. He brought his bat down as hard as he could, taking out the gang member just behind Izayo, who was able to duck. He wrenched a hand around Izayo’s throat and squeezed, only to have his grip immediately torn away by some other guys.

By this point, Yata was exhausted, battered and bruised. It looked as if he’d been hit by a train, but he was still standing strong. He swung the bat a few more times, managing to take out some of the guys in the front. Izayo sneered and kicked Yata’s legs out from under him as he ducked to avoid a baseball bat.

“You’re in over your head, Yata. Why don’t you give up?”

“Because I’m still Homra. And because I have someone to protect,” Yata snarled as Izayo pinned him with the sword at his neck. 

“Is that what this is about? Protecting Saruhiko? I’ve got news for you. He’s got a better chance of livin’ if you swallow that stupid pride of yours. If you really wanted to help him, you could do that for him.”

Yata was silent. The guys surrounding him wore ugly grins, as if their leader’s words were a victory in of themselves. The red clansman took a breath and sighed. “If I did consider this, Saruhiko wouldn’t be bound to the same agreement right?”

“I think you’re enough of a problem on your own. So no. Saruhiko would join of his own accord,” Izayo relaxed the weapon slightly. “You just have to say you’re in. Two little words, and we’ll help your dear friend out for you.”

“Misaki,” Saru whimpered from where he still leaned against the wall. He was nearly passed out at that point. He turned a pained look through the crowd to his friend. “Don’t.”

Yata was quiet, then he smirked, hand slowly clasping around the metal bat that lay on the floor by his side. “Sorry, fellas. I’m no traitor.”

He pounced to his feet and swung the bat into every guy he could. Some hit, some didn’t. He felt more weapons coming toward him, and he managed to use his board to block them or dodge well enough. He was clipped in the shoulder with a bat, then in the knee. He felt the sword slice open his calf during one of his jumps. Still, he pressed on.

He was doing well in spite of the pain. He took another five guys down with only two swings of the bat. Then another three. There were only five more, and each of them brandished a bat, striking him hard. Yata blocked most of the blows and dodged a few others, nailing the closest two guys with his own bat. A hit caught him in the arm, then the knee a second time. It nearly brought him down, and he staggered to remain on his feet. 

He took out the last two besides Izayo, and Izayo, who’d been standing next to him, was able to nail Yata full force with a baseball bat he’d retrieved from a fallen gang member. Right in his broken rib. Yata felt another snap, and he gasped as the wind was pressed out of his lungs. 

The Homra clansman went down hard. He coughed up blood and tried to regain control of his breath. A foot came down on his back, and he wheezed in pain. He felt the cold steel of Saruhiko’s sword between his shoulder blades and a hand on the side of his face, pinning his head against the floor.

“That was pretty great, Yata. You managed to take out most of our best guys. But you can’t really think our gang is so small. The others will be here any minute, I’ve already sent the call. You couldn’t possibly hope to win anymore.”

He stepped down harder, and more blood spattered the concrete under Yata’s chin. 

“Misaki!” the scream tore from Saru’s throat, and a throwing blade spun through the air to sink into Izayo’s already-damaged shoulder. The man winced and ripped the weapon from his own flesh before hurling it back at Saru, full force. It sunk into the blue’s upper arm, and Saruhiko cried out in pain. 

Yata was on his feet in the very same instant. He threw all of his weight at Izayo, and the two of them collapsed backwards. Izayo grabbed the smaller boy by the shoulders and flipped him over his head, tossing Yata against the wall. The red clansman fell down harder than before and did not get up from there. 

“I see why my guys were so intent on recruiting the two of you. You just won’t die,” Izayo pressed the blade into Misaki’s back, drawing blood. “But I’m going to fix that.”

“No!” Saru cried desperately, twisting away from the wall and trying to drag his body closer. But the loss of blood had left him too weak. 

Izayo laughed and raised the sword before plunging it into Yata’s back. It hadn’t pierced very deep before a bat smashed into the back of Izayo’s skull. The Blank leader toppled forward and landed next to Yata with a hand on the back of his head, which had started to gush blood. 

“What?” he managed. “No, my guys, they’re coming.”

Kusanagi smiled, and he had the whole of Homra’s inner circle at his back. “We took care of them for you.”

Yata opened his eyes weakly, and a tired smile crossed his face. “You guys came…”

“Of course we did,” Kusanagi looked down at Yata, and his eyes were shocked, and maybe a little horrified. He took a step closer, laying a very gentle hand on Yata's shoulder. 

“No blood!” Rikio smiled. 

“No bone!” Kusanagi moved away from Yata and raised a knife to a terrified Izayo’s throat. 

“No ash!” Anna cried, pumping a fist into the air, coming into the front of the group. 

The rest of Homra echoed them.

Before everything fell dark, Yata was able to see Kusanagi slit the Blank’s throat, blood showering them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely got carried away with this one but eh. I'm having a great time.


	14. Confessions

Yata opened his eyes, and his whole body felt heavy. There were aches in places he didn’t know he could break. He felt like he’d been drugged. Looking down at the needle in his arm and the IV rack behind him, he knew that was the truth. He was in a hospital room. There were over a dozen get-well cards clipped on a string by the single window in the small room. 

The light above his head was on, and the world outside was dark. He looked around. The room was no different than any other hospital room, but everything was somehow weird.

“Saruhiko,” he whispered. The blue clansman had his arms folded on the railing of the bed, and he was fast asleep. He wore a loose tank top and his hair was absolutely wild. “Saru,” Yata gave him a gentle shake. 

A pair of shocked but tearfully-happy blue eyes were instantly fixed on him. “Misaki!” he sat up quickly. “You’re awake, thank god.”

“I-” Yata tried to remember what was going on. It only succeeded in making everything hurt more. “What happened?”

“You saved my life, don’t you remember? And you got a damn lot of injuries in the process.”

“I don’t… what injuries, exactly?”

“Where to start… let’s see, a punctured lung, two broken ribs, broken knee, they sliced you up a few times- most of which needed stitches, stabbed in the back with a sword- my sword- also needed stitches, plenty of internal bleeding…”

“What about you?” Misaki murmured, feeling exhausted just from hearing the extent of his own injuries. 

“Just a big gash in my chest and a little one in my arm. They needed stitches and a blood transfusion, but after that I was fine.”

“And the guys we fought?”

“Most of them are dead. The few who aren’t, well… they have big headaches.”

“And we’re not in trouble for killing them?”

“Thanks to myself, no you aren’t,” the blue king walked into the room, a hand resting on his sword. “I had a talk with the authorities and took care of everything myself. I really must thank you, Misaki Yata. If you hadn’t shown up, Mr. Fushimi very easily could have died.”

“Uh, no problem,” Yata was startled by the blue king’s sincerity. 

“Oh, shit,” Saruhiko pulled out his phone, thumbs working rapidly. “I was supposed to call him the second you woke up.”

“Who?”

“Hello?” a familiar voice came over Saru’s phone, which was turned on speaker. The bartender sounded tired. “Is that you, Fushimi? Do you need me to bring something over?”

“No, sir, I’m fine. He’s awake.”

Silence. Misaki could hear the smile in Kusanagi’s voice when he announced it to whoever was in the bar. “Yata’s awake!”

A consequent cheer rose from what sounded like the entire inner circle of Homra, clamoring about when they could visit him. 

“Not yet,” Kusanagi said firmly. “Give him some time. I’ll go see him and give him your well wishes.”

Kusanagi was beaming when he entered Yata’s room. Munakata had since left the boys to some peace and quiet, and Saruhiko was describing the incident in further detail. As soon as Kusanagi came in, they fell into silence. 

The bartender’s eyes were glistening, but he didn’t cry. He never cried. He walked into the room and gently embraced Yata. So gently it felt like a ghost was touching him. 

“You scared us all, you know that? Especially Anna and Saruhiko, here.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re all so glad you’re alright.”

“How is everyone?”

“Apart from asking about you non stop and sleeping in the bar for the past three nights to see if you’d wake up? They’re fine,” Kusanagi ruffed up Yata’s hair. The red clansman grinned and used his uninjured arm to claw it back down. “I’ll let you get some more rest. And Saruhiko, you should go home for a bit. I can stay with him.”

Saru nodded. He was dead tired, and the look on his face betrayed him when he tried to hide it. “Alright… just let me say goodbye to him first.”

One look and Misaki knew that Saruhiko hadn’t left his side the whole time he was here. “You idiot,” Misaki folded his arms as Kusanagi respectfully stepped out to give them privacy. “What happened to both of us getting sleep?”

“I couldn’t leave you here by yourself. Knowing you, you’d beat up one of the nurses in your sleep,” Saruhiko smirked. 

“Saru, I-”

“Let me talk for once, moron,” the blue clansman cut him off, but his voice was soft. “I thought I was gonna lose you forever. And I can’t hide from you anymore, because I realized that if something happened to you, I would have never been able to tell you what I was thinking. So I’m gonna say what I need to say.”

Yata nodded, surprised. 

“Since we were kids, I never wanted to feel anything. Any time I did feel something, it was rewarded with scorn and mocking. So I locked myself away. And then I met you. And you just wouldn’t leave me alone. You were nice to me, and you treated me like a friend even when I shut you out… and things never changed. I loved you then…. Almost as much as I do now.

“I know you need me to say things outright for you. And I’m trying so damn hard. But it’s a pure fact that I love you. It’s the only thing I’m surprised you haven’t guessed by now. I look at you, and your smile makes me happy. Your sorrow hurts me. Your passion reminds me that it’s okay to care about things. And I am hopelessly, deeply in love with you.”

Silence. Misaki looked at Saruhiko with wide green eyes, stunned. “I…”

“And I figured you would never feel the same. That’s okay. I just wanted you to know.”

“I-”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say it if you don’t want to. I just don’t want things to change between us. It was part of the reason I never said anything before...”

“Saruhiko, shut up!” Misaki shouted. He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you either don’t tell me anything, or you don’t let me get a word in! What I’m trying to say is that I do. I do feel the same, I always have. I just wanted you to be ready to hear it. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. I love you, too, dumbass!”

Before Saru could think of something to say, Misaki laced his fingers with the blue clansman’s. Saruhiko decided to go for it. He brought his mouth down on Misaki’s, and the two of them shared their first kiss. Saru ran his hands through Misaki’s hair, and he reminded himself how careful he had to be. 

Misaki locked his arms around Saruhiko’s neck, also being very careful not to hurt either of them. He smiled against the blue’s mouth. 

“So… uh, Saruhiko?” Misaki said, once the kiss had faded into a close embrace.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean you’ll go out with me if I ask?”

Saru rolled his eyes, but the gesture was accompanied by an affectionate laugh. “Let me sleep on it,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Misaki caught the tone for once, and he grinned, hugging Saru closer. 


	15. Epilogue

“You are so cheating!” Misaki snarled, whacking Saru on the shoulder with his controller. “There’s no way someone can be this good at this game! It’s rigged, let me see your controller!”

Saruhiko shoved him away playfully. “Sorry, Misaki. It’s not my fault you’re too distracted by my good looks to play properly.”

“Damn monkey,” Misaki grumbled, blushing a bit. 

Rikio walked into the bar with Anna at his hip. He smiled at the screen. “Ouch, Yata, Fushimi is wiping the floor with you right now.”

“Shut up!” Yata snapped. 

Anna giggled. “I know you can beat him if you try, Misaki.”

“I’ve been trying for three hours,” Misaki groaned, falling back against the couch. 

“And look at that you’ve improved… a little,” Kusanagi brought the glass he was shining over so he could get a good look at the screen. 

Yata snarled, but he fell heavily on Saruhiko’s shoulder, nuzzling into him as the blue clansman wrapped an arm around his boyfriend. Saru buried his mouth in Misaki's hair while he started playing a solo round.

Rikio snickered. “So are you guys official now?”

Saru looked away, going red. “It’s complicated.”

Misaki held up the gold ring he’d secured around his neck with a chain. He was never a ring kind of person, but… it was Saruhiko's version of a promise ring, so... “No, it’s fucking not!”

A wave of laughter from everyone around them, and Saru even chuckled himself. “Okay, yeah, I guess it’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's all folks. If someone presses for a fluffier sequel I can get on that, but for right now that's what I got for ya. Thanks for sticking through to the end, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
